


For Your Ears Only (Beneath the Radar)

by Linorien



Category: Original Work
Genre: Although Rebecca was definitely given a name starting with R for a reason, Gen, I swear it is not an American James Bond AU, Spy Stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 06:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9536375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linorien/pseuds/Linorien
Summary: Hidden among the standard radio stations are the Number Stations. Holdovers from the Cold War, these stations broadcast indecipherable code. Or at least, they want you to think it is indecipherable.So what happens when some one does decode it? And what are they really used for?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Original work.  
> Morse Code translated at the end, but absolutely try it yourself if you feel so inclined.  
> Also as always, any feedback is welcomed with open arms.
> 
> Updated thanks to some lovely editing from Gwy

The Electromagnetic Spectrum… radio waves… running from wavelengths of 10 meters to 100 kilometers. Within this range, an infinite number of frequencies, of radio stations, fly through the skies. Many are used for classic rock, or smooth jazz, but there are others. Others that very few people hear. You might skip over them, thinking they’re meaningless static. You might think there’s nothing there. You might say it slips beneath the radar.

Yet something lurks between the popular radio stations pumping out the latest hits. Something that’s ordering up a different type of hit. The stations of which governments claim ignorance.

The Number Stations.

.... .. -.. -.. . -.     .. -.     - .... .     ... .... .- -.. --- .-- ... ·-·-·-

Jonathan bent over his pocket book of expert-level Sudoku. He ignored the incessant chatter of the office cafeteria. He gnawed on his pencil, adding more teeth marks to the wood. He couldn’t remember when he had last seen the eraser that had fallen off somewhere between Monday’s product design meeting and the change in transistor model.  Occasionally he made a note in the puzzle, or jotted down an idea for a side project. He used his own code to write in the margins. He didn’t want anyone to steal his ideas. Not that anyone would at this dull place.

Mark slid onto the bench across from him.

The clatter of the tray was loud and broke Jonathan’s concentration. He mentally scowled at the interruption and ignored his coworker.

“Hey Jonathan,” Mark said. “You like codes and puzzles.” 

Jonathan nodded when he realized there wasn’t anything more to that obvious statement. 

“I’ve got a website for you to check out,” Mark said between bites of his steak sandwich. “Have you heard of the number stations?”

Jonathan looked up from his puzzle. “No. What’s that? Is it a type of puzzle?”

A grin spread across Mark’s face. “I first found out about them when I did amateur shortwave radio stuff. They’re radio stations that occasionally broadcast bits of code that are basically impossible to decipher. Most of them don’t make any sense. Not that people don’t still try to work it out. You would think there was a prize with the amount of fervor some people have.”

Jonathan set down his pencil and leaned forward. “Who broadcasts them?”

“No. No one has actually claimed responsibility for them.” 

Jonathan’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“The people online think they’re from spy agencies all over the world. It makes sense. Easy to communicate worldwide and easy to hide among the wavelengths. But they’ve only ever been formally acknowledged once—in a court case about a foreign spy in the US. But never again.”

“What did you say they’re called? Number stations?”

“Yeah,” Mark said around the food in his mouth. He reached for Jonathan’s phone. 

Jonathan slid it over. When he got it back a minute later, Mark had loaded a dark web page that was clearly dedicated to these number stations. The page explained the different types of stations and there was a forum for the members of the site. There were threads dedicated to each station and small groups of individuals trying to decode each one. 

“Right, before I get too carried away learning about these,” Jonathan interrupted. “My lunch hour is nearly over and I have to figure out the right dimensions for this new circuit design by the end of today.” 

Mark checked his the time as well and the two men returned to the cold of the basement labs.

\- .... --- ... .     .-- .. - ....     --- -... ... . ... ... .. --- -. ...     .- .-. .     -... .-.. .. -. -..     - ---     -.. .- -. --. . .-. ·-·-·-

The number stations are almost the easiest way to quickly send a message across the world. Choose the right frequency and nothing will interrupt your signal, simply because nothing is expected to be there. Adjust your signal correctly, and no one else will detect it. But someone will always be listening. The random strings of numbers, the children’s nursery rhymes, even the sound clips from classic cartoons contain within them a message meant for one person’s ears only.

\--- -. .-.. -.--     -.-- --- ..-     -.-. .- -.     .... . .- .-.     ..- ... ·-·-·-

Four months later, Jonathan had become a regular on the forum. Username: Puzzl3r_KDR8. He was addicted. It was a good thing that he lived alone. He got home from work and grabbed some chips to accompany his beer as he booted up his personal laptop. He immediately logged into the forums and got caught up on the latest chatter before focusing on the one station that interested him the most 

The station was broadcast at 1386 kHz. It was a newer station; only a few people were working on decoding it. There was less static, so it was theorized that it originated in the United States. Of course there was no way to prove it, but it was a working hypothesis that Jonathan and the others on the forum hoped would make it easier to decipher.

All the broadcasts had followed the same format. A sequence of ten numbers repeated for 40 seconds, followed by a reading of a poem in Latin. Then there was a short message in Morse code followed by a G7 chord played on an organ. The forum members had nicknamed it The Discord.

With a soothing background of classical piano music, Jonathan pulled out the Decodex—more commonly known as the notebook that he used to try to resolve the puzzle of the secret code the station employed. It wasn’t dissimilar from his engineer’s notebook at work: graph paper, everything in pen, dated and bound, and above all—sloppy. He squinted at his handwriting sometimes and contemplated writing more legibly, but when an idea struck, all hope of neatness went out the window. Today, he sat on the couch and began to work on the numerical section of the broadcast.

The numbers weren’t always the same, but there were some commonalities. The fourth and sixth digits were always zero. The number between those was either 3, 4, or 7, with three being the most common. There were fewer combinations of the first three numbers than the last four, but there didn’t seem to be any pattern to those numbers. With a moan, Jonathan flopped onto his back and held the notebook over his head to stare at the numbers. His arms grew tired and he opted to just hold the notebook to his forehead and hope that the secrets of the numbers would come to his brain directly via osmosis. He needed pizza.

.-- .     .... .- ...- .     -.. .- - .-     ... .... . . - ...     .- .-.. .-..     .- -... --- ..- -     -.-- --- ..- ·-·-·-

With a freshly brewed mug of vanilla coffee in her hand, Rebecca trudged back to her desk in the underground office. She was not looking forward to sitting at her computer. She needed sleep, but unfortunately she was the best coder in the office (they really needed to hire more) and so she had been assigned to a particularly awful decryption problem. The joint project involved some of her counterparts in Japan, but apparently their office had better work hours and their employees got to go home to sleep, unlike her. But then again, Japan had a significantly smaller country to cover, so their office probably wasn’t as busy at all hours.

While waiting for them to come back online, she had tried to see if walking laps on the track would help her clear her mind and maybe even help her to look at the problem from a different angle. However, she hadn’t noticed the time and the gym was full of agents running the track and sparring in the center so that was a no go. Too much exterior movement.

The only option left was to return to her desk and her whiteboard. She took a picture of her existing notes and then erased it all. If she couldn’t have a clear mind, maybe a clear whiteboard would help.

The relative quiet of the office was soon broken by a groan of frustration and the sound of a head falling to the desk. Rebecca smiled and looked to see her desk partner in the standard frustration slump: forehead pressed to the desk, arms hanging loosely toward the floor, and the chair pushed back to allow for the terrible posture. 

“Still not getting anywhere?” she asked.

Amy shifted her head to glare at Rebecca. “Does it look like I’m having any luck?”

“Right, budge over. Let me take a look.” Anything to avoid working on her own problem. 

Amy lifted her keyboard over her head and tilted the monitor to allow Rebecca to look at her code without moving her own head. Rebecca could only roll her eyes at the sight. She scrolled up to the original code and to the background information on the source. 

It was an encrypted document from a hard drive they had retrieved from an underground market trader in Kansas. It looked like he was a facilitator for illegal trading—from animals to drugs to trade secrets. They hoped that by cracking his encryption, they would have access to his record of partners. He had evaded capture so far, making it impossible to question him directly. 

Rebecca rested the keyboard on Amy’s back in order to scroll through the document, beginning the tedious hunt for patterns. It was a good thing she wasn’t running a mission until later that evening. And after that, some much needed sleep was on the horizon.

.-     ...- --- .. -.-. .     .. -.     - .... .     ...- --- .. -.. ·-·-·-

A beep from his computer sent Jonathan scrambling for his laptop. He checked the notification.

[ManFanUtd25 18:25]: I think I might have figured out the numbers.

Jonathan grinned and wiggled his fingers.

[Puzzl3r_KDR8 18:25]: What?!

[T3ch5purt47 18:26]: Really?

[DRACOder_Slyr 18:26]: For real?

[ManFanUtd25 18:28]: Sorry, little overeager there. I didn’t completely figure it out but I have a theory. The digits are repeated for 40sec, which is the longest section. And since it’s at the beginning it might be to get someone’s attention. This is a part they don’t want to be missed. So what if it’s a way to get the attention of whoever the message is meant for?

Jonathan leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands over his face.

[DRACOder_Slyr 18:30]: Woah. I don’t even know what to say. This is big.

[ManFanUtd25 18:31]: But does it make sense? I’ve been awake far too long today so you could probably convince me of some strange stuff right now and I’d believe you.

[T3ch5purt47 18:32]: No that makes sense. Has anyone done any research on how agents are identified? Like name, rank, and serial number?

[DRACOder_Slyr 18:33]: I thought that was just in the TV shows. That’s a real thing?

[Puzzl3r_KDR8 18:35]: Yea it is. I mean the fiction has to have some root in truth. Most spy agencies identify their agents by some kind of number. The FBI and CIA definitely do.

[ManFanUtd25 18:36]: Really? Have you already looked into this?

[Puzzl3r_KDR8 18:38]: A bit. But I didn’t think of connecting it with these numbers. Not all of the sources were reliable and some were outdated so take this with a shade of doubt. But it’s common for each different office within a large agency to have a way of identifying themselves. Makes it easier to narrow down the suspects if there is a mole in the system.

[ManFanUtd25 18:39]: That could be the first three digits. The ones that repeat fairly often.

[DRACOder_Slyr 18:41]: Yea that makes sense.

[T3ch5purt47 18:42]: What about the other numbers?

[Puzzl3r_KDR8 18:45]: The last four digits are rarely repeated and there have been lots of different combinations, so I’m thinking that those are a personal identification. Like how most times when you are asked for verification you only need the last four of your social security number even though there are a lot more numbers. Then the middle three might have something to do with what type of agent they are. Which would explain why we only see three, they are all types of field agents. What do you think?

Jonathan bit his bottom lip as he waited for their response. He had done the research on serial numbers two weeks ago instead of doing research for work, but he couldn’t see how it fit. As soon as the Brit mentioned the numbers needing to be a way of saying who the message was for, it all fell into place. Like the autocomplete in solitaire.

[DRACOder_Slyr 18:50]: That. Is. Genius. Man, you rock!!

[ManFanUtd25 18:51]: I’m speechless. That’s brilliant.

[Puzzl3r_KDR8 18:52]: Your realization about it being the identifier of the intended recipient was what made it fall into place.

[T3ch5purt47 18:53]: Nice teamwork guys. That makes a lot of sense. What about the rest of it?

[DRACOder_Slyr 18:54]: Way to ruin the celebratory mood Techy.

[Puzzl3r_KDR8 18:54]: Party pooper.

[ManFanUtd25 18:55]: You had to mention that, didn’t you?

[T3ch5purt47 18:57]: sorry.

... .. .-.. . -. -.-. .     .. ...     -... . ... -     -.-. ..- -     .-- .. - ....     .-     .--- .- --. --. . -..     -.- -. .. ..-. . ·-·-·-

Rebecca sighed and pushed her chair back from her desk. Tearing her eyes away from her computer, she looked up at her boss. 

"I know you don't like running missions, Rebecca, but we need to bring you in on this one. No one else can be spared at the moment." He didn’t sound very apologetic. But being a government employee for a long time did that to everyone.

She shut off her monitor and walked over to the communications room. "What do you need me for?"

"The agent lost his earpiece."

"Another?"

"Yeah. Another." There were exasperated eye rolls around the room. "He didn't give a sign that he wanted to lose communications though. We aren't sure if it was intentional or not. Kayley is working on hacking the car through the back door in the system to see if he's in motion. It hasn’t shown up on any tollway cameras."

"How do we know someone else isn't driving the car?" She asked. 

"He’s in the car with steering wheel that locks if the assigned agent isn't driving it," Kayley grinned. She was typing away at one of the many computers at the front of the room that were mirrored on the large screens behind her.

"Clever. So where do I come in? I do coding, not corralling crazy agents."

"We need to figure out a way to communicate with him if necessary. Something he can't ignore," her boss responded. "Like the cell phone he’s refused to answer."

"So figure out some way to get his attention, but only his attention, send a message he’ll understand, and figure out how to get him to respond. On top of that, we don't even know where he is right now. Have I got all that?"

"Well we are reasonably certain he hasn't left Georgia."

"Only a 60,000 square mile margin of error," she muttered and got to work. 

Rebecca made short work of helping Kayley hack into the system of the car. It gave her the idea to use the display screen within the car itself. Together, they turned off the radio and displayed a screen that read  _ signal left for no, signal right for yes _ . Then they were able to ask the agent specific questions via the car speakers. The code showed him trying to switch radio stations or mute the speakers manually, but they reprimanded him and he eventually gave in. 

He was alive, injured, but not significantly so. They couldn’t get specifics from yes or no answers so they had to trust his evaluation. The mission could still proceed. 

“Cell phones are too easy to trace where you are, so few people have them anyway,” Kayley told him. “Instead, book yourself a room at the Red Roof near Park Street. That will keep you close enough to the target’s secondary base of operations without making him spook.”

“If we have any mission updates for you, we’ll broadcast them on station three at six o'clock,” Rebecca added. “If you have anything for us, we will have an agent assigned to watch the drop in Roger’s Park. Do you understand?”

He signaled right.

.-- .     .- .-. .     .- .-.. .-- .- -.-- ...     .-- .- - -.-. .... .. -. --. ·-·-·-

“You seem more cheery than usual this morning,” Mark said. 

Jonathan startled and nearly caught his finger with the soldering iron. He connected the wire to the circuit board before brandishing the iron at Mark.

“What have I told you about sneaking up on me while I’m working?” Jonathan huffed.

“And what have I told you about daydreaming while you work?” Mark retorted with a frown.

Jonathan smiled sheepishly and set down his tools to give Mark his full attention. Normally he would have heard anyone approaching, but today he was preoccupied. 

“So what has you so happy?”

“I think I figured out the rest of the code for the shortwave station I’ve been working on.”

“You’ve decoded it?” Mark folded his arms. “No one has been able to decode any of the broadcasts.”

“Not completely, but I think I know more of what each part of the message is. And when I talk with the group maybe we can start working on decoding the Morse code section.” He idly scratched the back of his neck. “I’m almost starting to get a little worried. What if I find out about some super-secret information that I shouldn’t know? I don’t what to be arrested or anything.” He had grown up in the age where everyone on the internet joked about the NSA watching everything you do online, but lately it had become more real. He didn’t imagine that any spy agency would take kindly to someone who cracked their codes. 

Mark laid a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “I don’t think it will be a problem. They would first have to acknowledge that the transmission belonged to them. They don’t want to do that. You have nothing to worry about.” 

That was a lie and they both knew it. They had both read stories that said otherwise. Robbery or Suicide. They chatted of other work-related things to ignore the looming anxiety before they couldn’t procrastinate any longer. 

Mark wished Jonathan luck and reminded him that evaluations were fast approaching; he might want to cut down on the daydreaming while on the clock. He returned to his lab without another word about the broadcasts.

The reaction online was a lot more exciting. There were six forum members online this time and everyone congratulated Jonathan on figuring out another piece of the puzzle. Now that they had figured out that the author of the poem was the code name for the mission, all that was left to decipher was the mission instructions in coded Morse. Granted, there was still a chance that this was wrong, but the author tended to match with an agent ID for a while before the agent was paired with a new author. Jonathan and the others sent each other links for different decoding software and each picked an old, recorded broadcast to unravel. Hopefully, with the organized system, they would be able to make further headway.

Jonathan worked off of two hypotheses. First: that the final decoded message would be in English. Second: the poem would provide some hint as to the mission. That had to be how they choose those code names, otherwise they could have picked any random word. Having an associated poem would make it easier to remember. And if he knew what the mission was about, the coded instructions might be easier to interpret.

.--. .-. .. -.. .     .. ...     - .... .     -.. --- .-- -. ..-. .- .-.. .-..     --- ..-.     .- .-.. .-..     -- . -. ·-·-·-

“Take the next left. Now a right. You’re looking for a door labeled Server Room,” Rebecca instructed as she led her agent on his mission. He strolled into the room and looked for the main computer to hack into. He wasn’t a computer geek by any means, but he plugged his phone in and tapped the app that opened up a connection to headquarters. 

“Connection made,” Rebecca confirmed. “Stand by for further instructions.” Standing at one of the handler stations at the front of the room, Rebecca looked at the mirrored image of the screen in front of her. She activated another program on her computer to open the file structure on the hard drive. They were investigating a large oil company for an illicit business operation in human trafficking. So far, there wasn’t any concrete proof either way, but the government deemed it a serious enough risk to look into sooner rather than later. 

Their agency was instructed to run this mission as discreetly as possible. No one could know their purpose. They weren’t even allowed their usual guise of pretending to be investigating something benign, like health and safety. 

Rebecca sectioned off the drive and assigned others to look through each part. Most of the folders seemed to contain exactly what they promised. The finances were spreadsheets of finances. She copied those to examine more closely later. She rubbed her temples. Personnel files contained the employee records. They had the expected storage space allotted to them, as well. She found no huge files that indicated sloppy work when hiding heavily encrypted data.

“I think I hear someone coming,” the agent interrupted her search. “I might have to flee.”

“Stay put as long as you can,” Rebecca replied. “We haven’t found anything yet.” 

“Wait, I think I have something,” one of the other hackers called out. “I’ve got it copied over if he needs to run.”

“Thanks, Carse. Agent Greenwhey, you’re good to yank the cord if you need to. We’ll keep searching as long as we’re able.”

“Copy that.” He stayed for two more minutes before announcing that he was disconnecting and running.

“Satellite footage shows your car is undisturbed, so you have a clear escape route once you make it beyond the perimeter.” As the agent ran through the shadows and toward the surrounding forest, Rebecca thought about the past couple weeks. It had been incredibly busy, with higher than normal levels of preparation for this mission. New software had been developed and perfected especially for this mission, in addition to requesting satellite time from other agency branches. But it had paid off. 

The agent broke into Rebecca’s daydreaming when he reported that he was in the car and on the road, with no signs of disturbances.

Rebecca wished she had an assistant, but no suitable candidate had been found yet. An assistant would drastically reduce the amount of stress she felt on a daily basis.

“Copy that. Mission Catullus 75 complete. Amy will be on call if something comes up, but otherwise, this is R, signing off. Good work.” Rebecca put the headset down and took a deep breath. Mandatory day of rest, here she comes.

.--. . --- .--. .-.. .     .- .-. .     ... ---     - . .-. .-. .. -... .-.. -.--     ..-. .-. .- --. .. .-.. .     - .... .. -. --. ... ·-·-·-

[Puzzl3r_KDR8 17:23]: Have any of you made progress?

[ManFanUtd25 17:30]: Nope.

[DRACOder_Slyr 17:34]: I thought I had something the other day but no.

[RangerxxDanger 17:37]: I got some English out of one of them but it didn’t make sense and the method of decoding didn’t work on any of the other messages.

[ManFanUtd25 17:39]: What did it say?

[RangerxxDanger 17:42]: Otters guitar go to tree grandpa orange movie tomorrow shower check keys.

Jonathan stared at the words, eyes squinting as his brain raced to try to make sense of the nonsense. Nothing was coming to mind. He could anagram in his mind, thanks to all of the time he had been trying to code while at work instead of paying attention in meetings.

[BlkStgNja4Lyf 17:43]: Yeah that doesn’t make sense. You don’t think that’s a code within a code though?

[ManFanUtd25 17:44]: What do you mean?

[BlkStgNja4Lyf 17:46]: Well like ‘shower check’ could mean ‘rain check’ as in delay a previous order. Maybe ‘go to tree’ refers to a predetermined meeting place.

[Puzzl3r_KDR8 17:48]: I see what you mean but I feel like that’s overly complicated. Maybe if the Morse translated to just that, but this is after decoding the scrambled Morse message. It seems like too much work for shortwave radio messages.

[DRACOder_Slyr 17:51]: What Puzzler said. Maybe if these stations were common knowledge but there are already so many hoops to jump through to get this far, it doesn’t make sense. Besides, it seems like these are used for short, probably urgent, messages anyway. 

[ManFanUtd25 17:53]: Agreed. They wouldn’t want to make it too complicated for the agent otherwise the message might not be received in time. It was a good theory though.

[BlkStgNja4Lyf 17:54]: Yeah. I didn’t really think so either. But I thought I’d run it by you guys.

[RangerxxDanger 17:55]: No worries. I was having similar thoughts at 1am last night when I had been staring at it too long.

There was a disappointed silence in the chat. It seemed like ages since their last breakthrough, although Jonathan knew it had been only a little more than a month ago. However, compared to how long some of the forum members had been working on it, no time had passed at all.

[Puzzl3r_KDR8 18:10]: Has anyone heard from Techy lately?

[DRACOder_Slyr 18:11]: Not since we assigned the messages.

[ManFanUtd25 18:12]: No.

[BlkStgNja4Lyf 18:12]: Not for a while.

[RangerxxDanger 18:13]: Same here.

-.. .- -. --. . .-.     .-- .- ...     - .... .     - .... .. .-. -..     -- .- -.     .. -.     - .... .     .-. --- --- -- ·-·-·-

“Come in,” the voice called from within the glass office. 

Rebecca walked in and took the indicated seat in front of the cluttered desk. It was in an even worse state than usual; the office now looked like a physics lab, a chemistry lab, and an advanced electronics storeroom closet had all been dumped there by a tornado. The computer monitor in front was relocated atop an adjacent stack of paperwork and Rebecca could now see her boss’s face.

“What can I help you with?” he asked.

“I’m reporting back on a project you may or may not remember that you assigned to me,” Rebecca began, laying a thin folder on top of the desk. “You had asked me to monitor some chats on code-breaking sites to see if anyone showed potential.” 

The boss’s face brightened and he grinned eagerly, deep wrinkles crinkling his face. “And have you found someone?”

“I think I have,” Rebecca answered with a matching smile. “He has a master’s in engineering and he seems talented at what he does. I planted a virus on his computer so I could watch him work on the code and he is quite good. He wouldn’t belong in the computer division, that’s for sure, but he would flourish with the rest of the coders or even in R&D. He’s only a couple days away from cracking the cipher if he continues at the same pace.”

“What code is he working on?”

“You’ll like this, he’s decoding one of our shortwave stations.” 

\- .... .     .-- --- .-. .-.. -..     .. ...     - --- ---     ... -- .- .-.. .-..     - ---     .... .. -.. .     ..-. .-. --- --     ..- ... ·-·-·-

Jonathan groaned as he rolled over and burrowed deeper under the covers. He had no desire to answer the door at... what time was it? He blearily peeked out and glanced at the bedside clock. Three in the morning. Who on earth—? No matter. It was late enough that he could pretend he had slept through the sound of thuds. It was probably just an animal anyway. Or a drunk who had the wrong door. Suddenly, he heard the unmistakable noise of his front door opening. An unseen hand immediately muffled the sound of the tiny hanging bells that the door swung open to hit.

He slid out of bed to grab the metal baseball bat from his closet. Raising the makeshift weapon, he crept out into the living room. He hoped he looked threatening enough to deter any intruder. But he didn’t see or hear anyone. A thud to the back of his head made him gasp in pain before the darkness became even darker.

Jonathan woke in a dimly lit room. He lay on a couch where he could hear muffled voices growing louder as the people came closer.

One reprimanded the other for panicking and using unnecessary violence.

Jonathan sat up just as a woman walked in. She was middle-aged, straight hair pulled back, and was carrying a folder of papers.

“Good morning, Jonathan. My name is Rebecca.” She sat herself in the chair at the table Jonathan had not yet noticed. “You may know me better as Techspurt Forty-Seven, aka Techy.” 

Jonathan’s eyes widened. 

“I’d like to offer you a job.”

..-. .. -.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you are interested in learning more about number stations or listening to some, [here](https://warisboring.com/want-to-listen-to-spy-broadcasts-heres-how-af632c532db1#.o5b4pym3b).
> 
> As always you can find me on [tumblr.](http://spiritofcamelot.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Morse code translations starting from the top:  
> Hidden in the shadows.  
> Those with obsessions are blind to danger.  
> Only you can hear us.  
> We have data sheets all about you.  
> A voice in the void.  
> Silence is best cut with a jagged knife.  
> We are always watching.  
> Pride is the downfall of all men.  
> People are so terribly fragile things.  
> Danger was the third man in the room.  
> The world is too small to hide from us.  
> Fin.


End file.
